


erasure of skylights

by ienablu



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Stacker lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the morning two weeks after Operation Pitfall loses both Herc and Stacker their children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	erasure of skylights

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to the not-yet-finished fic where Operation Pitfall sees Mako piloting Striker Eureka with Chuck, while Stacker pilots Gypsy Danger with Raleigh. 
> 
> Extended notes [here](http://hayes-district.dreamwidth.org/2922.html).

Herc wakes up in the early hours of the morning. Stacker's arm is warm against his back, where Stacker is wedged between him and the wall.

Herc swings his legs off the side of the bed, and reaches down, fumbles around the pockets of his jeans for his mobile. 

It's 6:29. Two weeks ago it would have qualified as sleeping in. Now, it's far too early to be awake. Herc would much rather fall back asleep, but sleep spends hours alluding him, and the idea of laying on his side, spending those hours reminiscing while he waits for sleep is drearier than getting out of bed at this hour.

He lets his mobile drop back down onto his jeans, and he pushes himself to his feet. The carpet is cold beneath his feet. His knees pop, and his back follows a moment later. He rolls his shoulders back, stretches his neck, but doesn't look back at Stacker. Instead, he reaches down and grabs at his jeans, his mobile falling to the side. His jeans are cool as he slides them on, and Herc shivers.

Herc pads over to the door. It's ajar, and Herc spends a painstaking minute slowly nudging it more and more open. Stacker's a light sleeper by nature, all Mark-I pilots are, and Herc sighs in relief when the door doesn't creak as he sidles through to the living room.

His Henley lies in a heap to the side, where it had been kicked out of the path to Stacker's room the night before. He bends down and picks it up, restoring the room to its tidy state from the evening before. In the dawn light, and with Herc's sleep-heavy fingers, he struggles his way into it.

The spacious living room opens into a cramped dining room, and Herc steps around the small dining table that would not fit two grown men, into the equally cramped kitchen. He pats his hand up and down the half-wall by the fridge, then flicks on the overhead light. There are four cabinets above the sink, and the one directly above the coffee maker has a three-bag high, two bag wide wall of ground coffee, paper filters tucked to the side. The coffee maker is ten years old, as is the toaster on the other side of the sink, as is the microwave beside the toaster.

Herc measures out the coffee, measures the water, turns the coffee maker on.

The cabinet directly above the sink houses a stack of plates, straight rows of glasses, a collection of mugs. Herc grabs the two closest mugs, and he clenches them tightly for a moment, before he gently sets them down on the counter. Hand shaking, he reaches back up into the cabinet, moving ordinary mugs aside to better see the Coyote Tango collectable mug. He pulls it down, and cradles it in his hand, vision blurring for a moment as he gazes down at it.

It has been nine years since he held it last. Since he handed it back to a proud Chuck, and talked him through wrapping the mug in newspaper, nestling it in a box, wrapping the box in a scarce scrap of wrapping paper.

Nine years since he saw it last, Mako's face lighting up in delight as she unwrapped it.

Mako lives in the chipped rim of the mug, the tin box of hot chocolate mix hiding behind the wall of ground coffee. She lives in the short glasses alternating with the tall glasses, the drawings that have been moved to the side of the fridge. She lives in the second chair at the dining room, the thin film of dust showing that neither chair has been moved in the past four days Stacker has spent in his old apartment.

Herc blinks the tears from his eyes, puts the mug back into the cabinet, moves other mugs in front of it.

Grief grips his heart; Mako was Stacker's daughter, but Herc had watched her grow over the years.

It had only been week-long snapshots every few months, hearing her English improve, watching her hit her growth spurt the summer before Chuck, fielding questions about piloting that Stacker was reluctant to answer, smiling when he first saw her blue highlights. He didn't have Stacker's relationship with her, or even Tamsin's, but he did love her, and he does miss her.

Herc likes to imagine Stacker feels the same about Chuck. 

Herc rubs at the tears falling down his face.

The coffee maker beeps.

The aroma wafts up, and Herc grimaces.

Herc pours himself a cup, and a cup for Stacker. He doesn't know if Stacker is awake yet, but he will need to wake soon. Although the loss of Tokyo's Daughter has the nation mourning, Stacker's time stationed at the Tokyo Shatterdome has signed him up for countless interviews and press events. Four days have been spent living amongst ghosts, and there are at least four days more.

Herc's lack of involvement in Pitfall has him overlooked by the press. He's grateful he doesn't have to interview, but just because he doesn't talk about Chuck doesn't mean he doesn't think about him. Chuck lives in Herc's newfound distaste for coffee and Herc's difficulty sleeping without the warmth of another sleeping being at his side.

The sun has started to rise, and light glows behind the blinds. Herc walks slowly through the faintly illuminated room, the coffee sloshing with each step. He takes a small sip from each cup, before pressing his shoulder against the door, opening it fully. Stacker isn't lying on the bed, and Herc clenches the handles the mugs tighter.

The faint sounds of a wakening city draws him into the room, and he feels the whisper of a breeze even be he turns and sees the open balcony door, the shadow of Stacker's body.

The carpet is still cool against his feet as he pads the length of the room, the air from outside starting to chill his hands, the exposed sliver of skin where he hadn't buttoned his shirt.

A shiver runs up his body as he steps onto the cold concrete of the balcony, as he stands to Stacker's left and his forearms touch down on the cold metal railing.

Stacker tilts his head down, and towards Herc. He smile is tired. "Good morning, Herc," he says, turning back to gaze at the sky.

"Morning," Herc replies, voice still thick from sleep. "Brought you a cup out, if you want it."

Stacker takes it, enveloping his hands around the small mug, fingers overlapping, but doesn't drink.

Stacker's throat works. He taps his pointer and middle fingers a few times, before going still.

Herc waits.

"After Onibaba, Mako did not sleep well," Stacker says, finally. His voice has been pitched down, but his eyes stay steady on the horizon. "Understandably," he adds. "The worker who was overseeing the adoption told me I needed to talk -- to really talk to her. I needed to know when to press, when to back away. I tried not to press too hard, even though I wanted to know why Mako couldn't sleep. There were plenty of viable options, I wanted to know which it was. After a few nights, she confessed her fears of Onibaba returning. She knew it wouldn't, but the dark shook that knowledge. So I started staying the night up with her. We watched the sun rise together. I told her the monsters would be defeated. Life would go on. We would keep fighting. The sun would rise another day."

"Did it help?"

The sun is rapidly starting to rise, and the rose color of the sky is shading everything in warm pinks.

"I hope so," Stacker admits, quietly.

Seconds trickle by. "Is it helping?"

Stacker looks at Herc. Blinks a few times. "I don't know," he says, another quiet admission.

"If you want me to leave, I will."

The sun crests the skyline, and the lights halos Stacker. "That," he says, as he smiles softly Herc, as warmth washes over Herc, "is the last thing I want."


End file.
